Mother you saw the cuts on my hands
you asked me what they were
I told you they were barbed wire scratches
when I climbed up a tree
in our backyard.

Mother,
there are no trees here.

but you stayed silent
in the church pews
praying to a god
who couldn't save your daughter.

Mother, remember when you tucked me at night
and held me
because I am afraid of the dark but
told me nothing would go wrong because
you are the light of my life.
and everything is gonna be alright.

what happened?

one day,
you asked me if he does things to me
when we are alone
I felt your chest tighten
as i replied with nothing but a straight face
i forced myself to shake my head

just to see you breathe again.

Mother, you saw the lines under my eyes
you keep telling me I should go home earlier
go to bed earlier
but you do not understand
that monsters do not always hide
under your bed
sometimes, they welcome you

"home"

Mother, I want to tell you but
do you really look at me?
or you just see the
smiles
and how hard
I try not to make you worry.

do I really have to end up in
hospital beds
before you finally see
how unhappy I have been?

do I have to destroy myself
even more?

Mother,
tell me
when is everything going to be alright?

Mother you know how much
I hate enclosed spaces and
darkness
but right now
caskets seem like a pretty good bed
to finally
sleep.

Mother, tuck me in bed-
one
last
time.
okay?